


start a riot

by orphan_account



Series: like a ship into the storm [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Dragons, F/M, dragon racing, this was so much fun to write, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Ready to race Chase?” he asks her. 	Annabeth smirks, and somehow it looks more dangerous than anything else. 	“If you’re ready to lose,” she replies..(or a percabeth dragon racing au)





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is slightly based off the novel wolf by wolf by ryan graudin although they're racing dragons not motorcycles and other new stuff  
> also i'm not sure how to feel about this

 

_i've been thinking too much (help me)_

They meet when they’re twelve, and Percy’s first thought is princess curls.

“Mom?” he whispers, tugging at her sleeve. “Is that a princess?”

            Sally follows his gaze and laughs softly, “That’s Lady Annabeth.”

            Lady Annabeth chooses that moment to turn towards him, her golden locks catching in the light from the chandeliers, and Percy blushes as bright as a tomato.

            “Go and introduce yourself,” his father says, green eyes twinkling.

            “Remember,” Sally leans down to whisper, “you’re a _prince_.”

            Percy wants to protest, because he doesn’t feel very princely most of the time, but part of him wonders if it’ll seem impressive to Lady Annabeth.

            So he puts on his best prince face and marches up to her, bowing deeply and kissing her hand like the princes did in all the stories.

            “Would you like to see my Dad’s garden?” he whispers to her, out of earshot of the parents. Up close, he can see that she’s got pretty gray eyes, and she doesn’t seem to like him kissing her hand as much as the princesses in storybooks do.

            Then again, Annabeth is a _Lady_ , not a princess. Maybe there’s a difference.

            “Away from the party?” she asks, and her voice is lovely, he thinks, and when he nods she lights up.

            “Parties are boring,” he confesses. “Everyone wants to meet you, and then get rid of you when they want to talk about ‘grown up’ things.”

            She doesn’t laugh at that, like he wishes she would, but follows him out the doors all the same.

            His father’s garden is large and expansive, more like a maze than anything else. Tall statues depicting various sea monsters are spread around the garden like ornaments on a holiday tree. Percy’s personal favorite is the Kraken, and he practically drags Annabeth to look at it.

            “I think it looks like Lord Gabe,” he confesses quietly, and this earns a laugh out of her.

            “He’s the creepy one?” she clarifies. Percy crinkles his nose.

            “Yeah. He wants to marry my Mom.”

            “The Queen?” she raises an eyebrow.

            “Yeah, but she wasn’t always a Queen,” Percy says like it’s a secret, and to him it maybe feels like one. “She used to work for my Dad, but he fell in love with her.”

            Annabeth smiles, but there’s something lost in her gray eyes that he wants to find.

            “Can we be friends Annabeth?” he finally asks, “I need someone to brave these parties with.”

            She laughs again, and he counts it as another win.

            “We can be friends,” she decides, and then, turning so she can look him in the eyes, “Do you have a dragon?”

 

* * *

 

            He finds out the next morning (after prodding his Mother for details) that Annabeth and her family are staying (as ambassadors for King Zeus in the north) for the next _month_. He doesn’t know what peace delegations they’re trying to work out, but Percy doesn’t really care – he’s just found that Annabeth has a dragon, and he wants to _race_ her.

            She’s waiting for him outside the large dragon pen, in riding clothes, her blonde curls pulled tightly behind her head.

            She’s smiling, her gray eyes brighter than the night before.

            “You ready to race?” he asks, thinking that maybe he should go easy on her, considering he’s the _best_ at dragon racing.

            “Yes,” she answers, but she’s smirking as she swings open the door to the dragon pens. The dragons were evenly spaced, his father’s mount, the large and glorious Pegasus, his Mother’s tamer Neptune, a couple of other ones from the servants – finally his own –

            “Annabeth,” he says proudly, “meet Blackjack.”

            Blackjack is huge, he knows, with inky black scales and large wings. He nuzzles Percy’s head when he comes closer, and Percy throws him up a few sugar cubes.

            “Sugar cubes?” Annabeth wrinkles her nose.

            Percy shrugs, “He likes them.”

            Annabeth strides over to a mount he’d assumed was one of the servants, a beautiful gray thing with white wings.

            “Astraea,” she says, stroking the dragon’s head.

            Dragon pens didn’t just open one way, and one didn’t simply lead his dragon out the stable doors. Percy slams his fist down on a button in Blackjack’s pen, and the roof above begins to open. The other dragons lift their heads hopefully, and Percy decides to remind his Dad that sometimes Pegasus wanted to fly too.

            He busies himself making sure that there are no obstructions in the sky and that his saddle is properly affixed when – _whoosh._

He looks up to see Annabeth soaring out into sky, and says a few choice words before he’s yanking on Blackjack’s reins and sending his own dragon flying after her.

            “Playing dirty?” he calls, his voice nearly lost on the wind.

            The next moment is one he captures in his head and saves for a rainy day; her head whipping back, her princess curls catching on the wind and her smile brighter than the sun.

            “You betcha!”

 

* * *

 

 

            He thinks it’s reasonable to be sad once she and Astraea leave, especially because she’s probably the best friend he’s ever had.

            “We’ll see each other again someday Percy,” she promises, standing beside Astraea, “friends don’t lose each other.”

            They’re twelve and gullible, and he actually believes it.

            “Blackjack’s going to miss you,” he says, blushing, and she laughs.

            “See you later,” she says quietly, before mounting Astraea and flying away.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s dining with his Mother a month or so after, picking at his food noncommittally. He’s not really interested in whatever his Mother’s trying to tell him (although later, he berates himself for not listening. _why why why)_ because he’s thinking about taking Blackjack out for a little night trip around the palace.

            His mother sighs then, but it’s an affectionate sort of sigh.

            “You want to take Blackjack out, don’t you?” she asks, smiling, and Percy leaps from the table and races out of the dining room.

            ( _You should’ve hugged her,_ he tells himself later, repeatedly until the words melt in his brain).

            Blackjack is excited to see him, rubbing his snout into Percy’s hair. Percy laughs.

            “You ready?” he asks his dragon, before taking off into the night sky faster than he usually did.

            He isn’t really sure, later, why he was faster, or why he decided that lingering in the clouds was a good idea that night.

            He only knows that it’s a perfect vantage point for seeing his father’s boat burning.

            He doesn’t notice it at first, despite the smoke on the wind. Forest fires weren’t totally uncommon in these parts.

            It’s only when the soldiers start marching up the long road to the palace that he realizes what’s happening. He panics, gripping Blackjack’s neck and nearly slipping off his saddle, because those _aren’t_ his father’s troops.

            _He’s only out for a routine sailing_ , he tells himself, _and he was coming back today anyways._

           He decides that he’s going to find his father’s boat, land on it, and tell him what’s happening. His Dad will sort things out. He always did.

            He swoops towards the sea, but suddenly the smoke seems a lot stronger, and he can see his father’s boat _burning,_ the flames merrily leaping at the sky, and even he knows a burning ship is going to sink eventually.

            “ _No_ ,” he whispers, his hand clenching tight on the reins, and his mind leaps to his Mother faster than he can react, and he’s yanking Blackjack back to the castle but –

            The soldiers surround the building, and he can see the door being broken down, can hear their catcalls and cheering as they set the place on fire, and watches as they drag his mother out the front door.

            His scream catches the wind and it tears it away from him, tears frantically pouring down his face – _no._

* * *

 

            Years later, he finds himself mounting Blackjack again, but this time the screams in the wind are from delight and not fear and pain.

            Blackjack is considerably bigger, his mouth full of sharper, more dangerous teeth, his claws as long as Percy’s arms. Percy knows that the other competitors are scared of him as the line their mounts up next to him, their names echoing around the stadium.

            He knows he’s unknown right now, but he’s not counting on being unknown for long. Still, he can hear a few chants of _Peter Johnson_ ringing through the crowd, so he’s happy.

            Blackjack, just for matters of secrecy, has been given the name Growler, and even though Percy hates it – it’s necessary.

            He has to admit, he’s rather disappointed that his royal highness King Kronos didn’t show up to watch the first race of the season. It’s not like he would recognize Percy, he had been twelve and not even in the castles when his most gracious servant murdered his father and married his mother to Lord Gabe.

            He’s mostly tuning out the names. This was the first match of the season, but most said that if you didn’t get in the top five, you were bound to lose. If you didn’t get in the top twelve, you weren’t even included in the following races at all.

            His neighbor is muttering the names of the dragon racers before they even come on, like he’s memorized all of their facts and stats. Percy finds it kind of annoying.

            That is, until he mumbles the name _Annabeth Chase_ and Percy freezes. Maybe he heard it wrong; no he _had_ to have heard it wrong –

            “ANNABETH CHASE, ON HER DRAGON ASTRAEA!” the announcer screams, and the crowd goes wild.

            Percy curses himself for not memorizing who he was riding against, because it would have been the _smart_ thing to do, even though he supposes he hasn’t always ever been the _smart_ one. (Rachel had always told him that.)

            He cranes his neck forward to get a good look at her, but his view is obstructed by the other racers.

            When he tries to picture her, he just sees princess curls and a smile brighter than the sun, frozen in time at twelve.

            Although judging by the cheers erupting around him, he figures that she’s a fan favorite. _Of course she is._ That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to lose.

            Besides, she has no reason to win. Her King (and grandfather) was still in power. It’s not like her father was _dead_ or anything. King Zeus had managed to make an alliance with Kronos before he went the same way as Poseidon.

            So he braces himself, clenching Blackjack’s reins. He’s _going_ to win this. He’s going to win this, and then at the end of the championship, when Kronos shakes his hand and congratulates him, he’s going to run him through with his sword.

            “SUCH AN EXCITING TURN OUT FOR THE FIRST MATCH,” the announcer screams, and even with his voice booming throughout the stadium, he’s barely heard over the crowd stomping and clapping, “WHO’S READY TO RACE?”

            While the crowd goes nuts, Percy focuses on the track at hand. He pushes away Annabeth. She’s a problem he’ll have to deal with later, even if his mind is scattered all over the place.

            _Focus on the race._

It’s a simple enough track, he supposes, through one of the larger canyons in the country. It had sharp turns, tunnels, and wide-open spaces that were sure to get any inexperienced racer out fast.

            Which was kind of the point.

            Blackjack thrums beneath him, and he pats his dragon’s head reassuringly. They were going to do this.

            “THREE. TWO. ONE – RACE!”

            He kicks his heels into Blackjack’s side and the dragon shoots off like a rocket, tucking into the canyon ahead neatly, and Percy whoops when he leaves at least a dozen of the twenty-four competitors behind.

            He yanks on the reins and Blackjack slides past a creepy looking mechanical dragon and into the tight tunnel beyond. He hears the guy swear behind him as his mechanical dragon’s wings clip the sides of the tunnel and Percy urges Blackjack to go faster before the mechanical dragon explodes.

            “HANG ON FESTUS!” he hears the poor guy shout before he’s out of range.

            _I’ve earned this_ , he tells himself as he zooms by racer after racer, in various methods. He and Blackjack have been practicing for this moment for years.

            They duck through an arch, and he passes a pretty brown haired girl on a gold dragon. She yells curses at him as he flies by, but he can’t really feel sorry for her.

            She’d probably talk of him to her kids, and her grandkids. _The man who killed Kronos,_ she’d say in awe, _he passed right by me in the first race._

The thought of Kronos makes him press forward harder, and Blackjack responds eagerly, passing three more people – until only one person was ahead of him now.

            He remembers her dragon well enough, even if he’s sure she’s older and changed. _Astraea._ She’s grown like Blackjack has, a silvery death force.

            Annabeth, he can tell, however, is racing leisurely right now. She was always diligent at predicting the odds, and he knows that she’s certain she’s going to win.

            He likes being unpredictable.

            He yanks his reins upwards and Blackjack soars higher, his winds brushing the tops of the canyon, and pushes him to go faster, Annabeth a silvery speck beneath him.

            Once he’s sure he’s ahead of her, the finish line a few miles in sight, he pulls Blackjack into a dive.

            He works brilliantly, swooping down right in front of Annabeth, so Blackjack’s tail brushes Astraea’s nose.

He risks glancing back, and the sight of Annabeth’s face, shocked, red and gasping, is almost enough for him to lose his lead.

            “Dirty!” she screams at him, “Dirty playing!”

            He’s got his helmet on, and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t know who he is, so he blows her a kiss.

            Then crosses the finish line at first.

 

* * *

 

            He leaves Blackjack in the dragon pen built for the competition, and decides to go looking for some good food. He was starving, unsurprisingly, and he was sure that everyone would _want_ to serve the leading champion.

            (Seeing his fake name _Peter Johnson_ in the number one spot had almost been disappointing however, he wants to jump up and change it to _Percy Jackson_ but that would just cause a panic. He was supposed to be dead.)

            He finds the competitor’s dining hall easily enough, with the other twelve who had passed through the first round merrily chatting about their various techniques through the race.

            They all stop when they see him however, the silence echoing off the walls. Percy fights the urge to smile and instead goes to one of the long food tables and collects himself some food.

            The conversation starts up again, but this time it’s more about him (he’s pleased and terrified to find) and how he won the race.

            He takes a seat at an empty table. It was best if he didn’t make too many friends, even if that idea sends a kind of hollow feeling in his stomach. He wonders if Grover and Juniper had managed to make it to the arena today. He wonders if Rachel had. If Chiron.

            He hopes so.

            _“You,”_ someone spits, and he ducks his head down as Annabeth slams her own food tray across from him and sits down. He isn’t sure if she’d remember his face – the random princeling that had been her friend for a month and then died.

            “Me,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on the bowl.

            “What you did today was – “

            “Completely within the boundaries of the rules,” he says smugly, “not my fault you didn’t see me.”

            He keeps his head down, talking to his bowl. He desperately wants to look up, to see if she’s changed as much as he’s changed, but has a feeling that if he does, she’ll recognize him and this entire thing will go down the drain.

            _If_ she recognizes him.

            “Too scared to look me in the eye?” she challenges, and his head flits up at once, because he _hates_ being challenged, especially by girls like ‘Lady Annabeth’ who had probably never had a sad day in their lives.

            “I’m not scared,” he says firmly, and she frowns, observing him in a way that isn’t entirely _comfortable_.

            “You look familiar.”

            _Oh shit._

            Percy grins, “I get that a lot.”

            “We haven’t met before?”

            “No,” he lies, and then for dramatic effect, he adds a wink and, “because I would have remembered someone like _you_.”

            She _is_ extremely pretty, with her princess curls and stormy eyes, and it makes something inside his gut pull tightly. Here is someone who knew him before he was Peter Johnson, and there is almost nothing he wants more than to pull her aside and _talk_ to her.

            Had she cried when news of his death hit Zeus’ kingdom?

            She cringes at his comment, but something in her gray eyes has changed. She looks tense all of the sudden.

            “You look like someone I used to know,” she says softly, and Percy knows she’s talking about _him_ , but instead of saying something about it, he bites his tongue and layers on his disguise more thickly.

            “Well I hope you and him had some sort of secret relationship, because that is something I am _all_ for,” he says, leaning forward. She rolls her eyes, but he’s already finished his dinner and gets up to leave.

            “I want you to know something Johnson,” she says loudly, “if you think you can pull that move on me twice, you’re wrong.”

            He turns back, “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises,” he says, and decides to go to the dragon pen and make sure the idiotic stable boys haven’t done something to get their arms bitten off.

            Blackjack, after surviving with Percy for six months before they found someone to take them in, was a little territorial.

            He’s curled up, asleep, when Percy finds him though, and Percy laughs a little. He moves so he’s sitting with his back against Blackjack, sliding his eyes shut tightly.

            “We’re doing it buddy,” he whispers softly, “it’s gonna be _awesome_.”

            Blackjack snorts slightly in his sleep, and Percy pats him on the head.

          “Blackjack,” he whispers, just to say the dragon’s actual name out loud and then, “Percy Jackson. Sally Jackson. Poseidon. Annabeth Chase,” her name tastes weird on his lips, “ _Annabeth_.”

            He couldn’t let her win.

 

* * *

 

 

The next race is through the mountains. It was about a day’s leisurely ride away, and the actual race didn’t take place for another week.

            Percy, for the first time, could feel nerves beginning to cluster in his stomach. An entire week at his leisure, where he could be training Blackjack, or wandering around the neighboring mountain villages, but most importantly it was a week around Annabeth.

            A week praying that nobody beat his best time.

            The races were tracked by a timer on each racer’s flight gear, and the person at the end of the eight races with the lowest time would be the winner. Whoever raced the fastest.

            However, he was only ahead of Annabeth by a few seconds, and it didn’t help that whenever he turned his head – she was _there_.

            Competitors had a curfew, and slept in the same building (separate rooms of course) and ate at the same meals, and shared the same dragon pen.

            He wasn’t completely sure that he had convinced her that she didn’t know him, and besides, from what he could remember of her – Annabeth was _smart_.

            He’s never considered _himself_ to be smart (although his mother used to say that he was always smart enough, he just didn’t give himself enough chances but _whatever_ ) and so on the first day when he tried to observe his competition, he mostly just forgot their names.

            He remembered Leo, who’s dragon Festus (how that mechanical dragon made it past the preliminaries was a mystery) was in the pen next to Blackjack, mostly because of the routine curses and bangs he heard whenever he went to check on his dragon.

            He also remembered Jason and Piper, mostly because they were a couple now and spent a lot of the time either trying to make friends with Percy or making out with each other. (Maybe he was exaggerating, it wasn’t _that_ bad and they were kind of cute, but maybe Percy was just bitter.)

            Of course he remembers Annabeth, who stares at him continually from across the dining hall, her eyes piercing.

            However, she waits until day three of their week off to talk to him again.

            He’s pursuing a tasty looking pastry in a nearby mountain village when she comes up behind him and scares him so badly he nearly falls down a flight of stairs.

            “Careful idiot,” she says, gripping his arm to steady him.

            Trying to collect the fragments of his dignity, he tries for a glare at her, but honestly he’s still fighting the urge to scream _I’M PERCY JACKSON_ at random intervals and decides it’s not the best idea.

            “Hi Chase,” he instead says coolly, and she rolls her eyes.

            “I came here to warn you,” she says quietly, tugging him into an alleyway.

            “Warn me?”

            The alleyway smells like cat pee and is also damp, which he tries not to think about – and actually succeeds when Annabeth turns to look at him. It’s the kind of look she’d give him when they were kids, the exasperated – _what are you doing_ kind of look, and it makes his heart ache. Not exactly for her, they’d known each other for a _month_ – but for that old Percy. The kid Percy.

            “Luke is going to try to poison Growler tonight,” she says quietly, and his eyes widen.

            “What – “

            “The stable boys are there most of the day, but _not_ at night,” she continues on quickly, “And Luke – he’s – he’s determined to win. I think he’s going to poison both of our dragons.”

            Astraea was across from Blackjack.

            “What place was Luke in?” he asks, frowning.

            “Third.”

            Percy swears colorfully. “Why does he want to win _that_ badly?”

            “Did you do any research on the competition before you entered?” Annabeth asks in exasperation, “”there’s only twenty four regional champions. It’s not that hard.”

            “Well I was kind of focusing on winning, so I didn’t waste my time with facts,” he says defensively, _or I wouldn’t have been so surprised by you_ he doesn’t add.

            “Well I’m going to sleep in Astraea’s pen from now on. I suggest you do the same.”

            Percy has already decided to do that with Blackjack, but he’s automatically suspicious of her.

            “Why would you help me?”

            “If I’m going to beat you, I want it to be fair,” she says, gray eyes glittering like stars.

            “Oh really?” he says, raising one eyebrow.

            “Cheaters never prosper,” she says firmly, “I hope you take my advice.”         

            “I would be stupid not to. Besides Bla – I mean Growler, I mean – I miss him.” He wants to curse his tongue afterwards, but Annabeth is studying him too closely now.

            “What are you hiding Peter Johnson?” she asks carefully, and he shrugs.

            “What are you hiding? How do you know that Luke is plotting against us?”

            Annabeth takes a step backwards, something akin to pain flickering in her eyes, but her voice is firm.

            “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

            “I _would_ ,” he says, before he can think, and his face immediately turns bright red. _Good going idiot,_ he thinks as her eyes widen.

            “Well,” she says, and her face is red now too, “I’ll see you tonight!”

            She turns and stiffly marches away, and Percy has to refrain from banging his head against the nearest brick wall, because he’s such an _idiot_.

 

* * *

 

 

            He brings a pillow and a blanket down from his room and situates himself near Blackjack’s head. Blackjack playfully snorts into his hair, but even the dragon seems more content to be near Percy.

            They had spent a lot of nights like this before he found Chiron, curled in various shelters, with Percy trusting Blackjack to keep him safe.

            This time, Percy supposes, it’s _him_ protecting Blackjack.

            “You in here?” a soft voice asks at the door, and Annabeth peeks in. Her princess curls are down for the night, although her sleepwear is only a loose pair of pants and a matching shirt.

            “Yeah,” he says, and Blackjack’s head rises warily to glance at their visitor.

            “It’s kind of -” she bites her lip, “do you think we should leave our doors open?”

            “Why?”

            “A shut door seems kind of murder like,” she says, “and this way, the other dragons can hear if we start to get murdered.”

            He feels like there’s something she’s not telling him, but he stands up and opens Blackjack’s door.

            Annabeth’s brought a thin padded mattress down with her, and she spreads it carefully across the ground. Percy, watching her, snorts.

            “Can’t sleep on the ground Chase?”

            She wrinkles her nose, “I can if I have to, but there’s not really a point if you have one of these.”

            “Fair enough,” he’s just now slipping his eyes shut when she speaks again.

            “Are you hiding something that’s making you win?” she asks softly.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Are you cheating?”

            “No,” he replies firmly, “I’ve just been practicing for a really long time.”

            “So has everyone else here.”

            “Well, maybe I’m just extra motivated,” he suggests, and sneaks a glance to see Annabeth is on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

            “I’m motivated.”

            “By what?”

            “I have a certain expectation to live up to.”

            “I see,” Percy’s pretty sure she’s lying, but _he’s_ also lying anyways.

            Annabeth doesn’t talk again, and when he looks over, she’s passed out, her curls strewn out over the pillow, her mouth slightly open.

            Percy remembers asking his mom if she was princess, and the memory makes him flop over and bury his face in his pillow. Blackjack nuzzles the back of his head, and Percy makes a vow to forget about Annabeth. She was a tie to his past he couldn’t afford to have.

            Part of him wonders if, after it was all done and Kronos was dead and most likely Percy too, if Annabeth will remember him. When his name is plastered all over everything, he wonders if she’ll remember that month of their friendship.

            He wonders if she’ll regret it.

 

* * *

 

           He wakes up around midnight to a shadow peering into his dragon pen. Percy sits bolt upright, and Blackjack snorts. He can see across the hall that Annabeth is sitting up too, her gray eyes glinting in the dim light from the candle Luke Castellan is holding.

            “My, my,” he says, smiling. Percy doesn’t return the smile. “You two are dedicated.”

            “Well, when you’re in first,” Percy grins, “you can never be too careful.”

            Luke’s eyes glint, and for the first time Percy notices the large scar dominating half of his face. It makes him look scarier, the dim candlelight turning into something more grotesque.      

            “Goodnight,” he says, but the warning in his voice is enough to make shivers spiral down Percy’s spine.

            He waits until he hears Luke check on his dragon (probably as a lame attempt as a cover up) and leave the pen before he talks to Annabeth.

            “Why is he so obsessed with winning?”

            “You know how Kronos picks a champion every year to race for him?” Without the candlelight, she’s just a voice, and he closes his eyes. He likes her voice, he decides, it’s soft and smooth and calculating. Like her.

            “Yeah,” he finally remembers to answer.

            “Well Luke is his champion. And for whatever reason, he’s hell-bent on bringing glory to Kronos.”

            “Makes sense,” Percy mumbles, he’s already half asleep, “Thank you Annabeth,” he remembers to say.

            “For what?”

            _for being my friend. for giving me one last happy month._

            “For warning me. About Luke.”

            “Anytime.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The next morning they pretend like everything is fine. Percy goes out and buys a little foldable mattress, because while he’s perfectly fine sleeping on the floor – why would he when there are little mattresses?

            It’s day four, and Annabeth pretty much ignores him.

            Percy doesn’t mind, it makes it easier. Everything easier actually. _Especially_ since he’s starting to figure out why Grover used to talk about Juniper’s eyes all day long before they got together. ( _And how Rachel used to compare his to the sea_.)

            Annabeth’s eyes to him are like storm clouds right before it starts to pour. When she glares at him, he thinks she has an entire hurricane in her eyes.

            Of course, he doesn’t like Annabeth in the same way that Grover liked Juniper, because that would be _ridiculous_. He didn’t like Annabeth like that – she was his competition.

            It makes him inexplicably sad, because he wonders if things had been different, if Kronos hadn’t killed his father and married his mother off to some monster, if he and Annabeth would have ended up together.

            He would be in the stands cheering her on instead of racing against her.

            That image, however, fades as soon as he pursues it. It’s a stupid idea anyways, it wouldn’t get him anything.

 

* * *

 

 

           Percy barely sleeps the day before the next race. The last race, at least half the competitors had been people who had gotten in by chance. This time, they’re all fierce, and out for blood.

            He’s in first, which, he’s now realizing puts a _huge_ target on his back. Massive actually. To almost all of them he’s just some nobody. Some nobody that’s somehow at the forefront of the game, and he’s not entirely sure his other competitor’s like that.

            Sure, everyone is open to join, but when you made it to the top twelve, only the best remained.

            He had to prove to everyone he was the best.

            “PETER JOHNSON, ON HIS DRAGON GROWLER!” the announcer screams, and Percy urges Blackjack forward. This time, the amount of cheers surrounding his name are deafening, and Blackjack shakes his head back and forth like he’s trying to brush off a fly.

            Percy flashes a grin at the crowd, and they go wild. Something eases up in his stomach, because nobody had figured him out _yet_. In fact, they love him.

            _“ANNABETH CHASE ON ASTRAEA!”_ Annabeth sidles up next to him. Astraea is a beautiful creature, he thinks, with an elegant head and bright piercing eyes. He’s alarmed when she playfully nudges Blackjack with her head, and Blackjack makes his happy sound.

            It’s occurring to Percy that while Annabeth may not have figured out who he was, Astraea might have. She and Blackjack were certainly acting like old friends.

            Annabeth’s frowning down at the dragon’s, a crease in-between in her eyebrows, and Percy frantically opens his mouth to make some sort of jibe so she doesn’t start putting pieces together when –

            “LUKE CASTELLAN ON BACKBITER!”

            Luke smugly rides his giant multicolored dragon next to Astraea, and the female dragon looks a little uncomfortable. _Even his dragon’s a bully,_ Percy thinks irritably.

            The rest of the racers file out, and Percy tries to tune them out. He only needs to focus on Annabeth and Luke. Luke was determined for _Kronos_ reasons, and Annabeth – he didn’t know why, but that meant that she was dangerous. Even if her eyes were pretty.

            “Ready to race Chase?” he asks her.

            Annabeth smirks, and somehow it looks more dangerous than anything else.

            “If you’re ready to lose,” she replies.

            “THREE. TWO. ONE. RACE!”

            Percy slams his heels into Blackjack’s side and his dragon takes off like a shot.

            Astraea is right behind him, so he doesn’t let himself relax. He _can’t_ let Annabeth win.

            This course is full of winding mountain peaks, with only flashing signs to point them towards the correct track. One wrong turn and you could be lost for _hours_.

            Percy’s never been one to pay attention to details, and it’s almost painful to force his mind to focus on the flashing lights. The sky is a clear blue, but at this high of an altitude, he can feel the cold cutting through his riding clothes, and is pretty sure he’s going to be half frozen by the time it’s over.

            He whips around another turn, Blackjack’s wing nearly missing the mountain peak. There’s _snow_ up here, and personally Percy thinks that shouldn’t be possible. It was the middle of _summer_. There should be some sort of rule about that, surely.

            He makes it through half of the race in first before Annabeth plays dirty.

            He’s not expecting someone to use his own trick against him, so when he hears her cry out and she falls behind – he figures Astraea had almost hit something, and he was safe – for now.

            Then, she pulls up from beneath him, cutting him off. Her head whips back with a grin, gray eyes glinting – Percy swears.

            Then her eyes widen and she opens her mouth in warning, her cry snatched away by the wind. Percy whips his head around and sees Luke is right behind him, his dragon snapping it’s big ugly jaws at Blackjack’s tail. Blackjack is panicking, flapping his tail back and forth frantically, and Percy can feel his dragon’s body vibrating beneath him.

            Percy swears and jerks Blackjack to the side, getting him close enough to one of the taller peaks to grab a lump full of snow. Luke is almost past him when Percy chucks the snowball at his face.

            It splatters down his throat and the look on his face is _priceless_. Percy laughs and yanks on the reins, causing Blackjack to speed forward again. Luke is still spluttering, his dragon moving more slow. _Luke zero, Percy two._

Annabeth, however, isn’t close enough to catch, and he passes the finish line in second.

            “I told you I’d win,” she says smugly once they’ve dismounted and hot drinks are distributed.

            He’s frustrated as hell, but manages a smile as someone leads off Blackjack.

            “What the hell Johnson?” Luke is fuming, probably because the name Luke Castellan is outlined on the board in _sixth_.

            “One snowball made you fall three places?” Percy whistled in awe. “Bad luck man.”

            Luke looks like he wants to kill him, but Annabeth steps in.

            “Oh c’mon boys,” she croons, “I’m winning, so why fight?”

            Percy is almost sure he hates her, until she turns around and gives him a wink. At least on this one thing they were united, he figures. Besides, she’s practically glowing about her most recent win, and he can’t seem to find it in him to burst her bubble.

            “Well the good thing about these races is there’s always more!” Leo Valdez pipes in. He’d barely finished the race after his dragon’s wires froze.

            Percy smiles, despite himself, “Yep,” he says, locking eyes with Annabeth.

            “But,” she says, stepping forward, “the more you win, the more people bet on you. And if they bet legally, we get a share of the winnings.”

            He wonders how many people lost money on him today.

            Suddenly he hates this entire tournament. It doesn’t even make sense, why there’s twelve races instead of just one. When he was little, his Mother had always said that it was to get the nation _excited_. She said it was to prove to everyone who were the best dragon racers in the country.

            All he knows is that the times stand at this:

            _Annabeth Chase: One hour, six minutes._

_Peter Johnson: One hour, three minutes._

            He balls his hands into fists, and tries to make it look like he’s calmly walking off to check on Blackjack.

            In reality, it’s cold, he’s hungry, and Luke was trying to hurt Blackjack, which sends waves of nerves and anger through his entire person.

            Annabeth watches him go with a strange look in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s brushing frost off Blackjack’s scales (after scaring away a couple of stable hands that were trying to do it) when Annabeth comes up to talk to him.

            “Are you really that bitter about me winning?” she demands, leaning against the door. More than anything he wants her to go away, but it’s not like he can just _say_ that.

            “I’m bitter about Luke,” he says.

            “What he did was horrible,” she agrees, “is Growler okay?”

            “Other than being spooked, he’s fine,” Percy pats Blackjack’s head. Blackjack playfully licks his face.

            “He’s a tough one,” Annabeth says, stepping up and stroking his dragon’s head. Blackjack nuzzles her head and snorts into her hair.

            “Astraea seems to think so,” Percy finds himself grinning at her for reasons he can’t explain, “I mean – she definitely wants him.”

            “She does not.”

            “They were practically _playing_ with each other at the beginning of the race, don’t deny it – “

            She laughs, and to distract himself from the sound that is Annabeth Chase _laughing_ he brings the brush down on Blackjack’s side again, spraying frost onto the ground.

            When her laugh dies off, she speaks again. “You know, what Luke did wasn’t fair.”

            “Of course it wasn’t,” Percy says. He’s still angry about it, and doesn’t regret the snowball at all. Even if it that was the reason Annabeth Chase was in the lead, and not him. “But – nobody knows what a jackass he is except for the two of us _so_ – “

            “You know Peter,” she says, and he wants to tell her _it’s percy, percy,_ “you remind me of someone I used to know.”

            He may not know Annabeth Chase besides a month as children and a week of being in close proximity, but he does know that she doesn’t start up casual conversations like this. She’s catching on to him somehow.

            “Oh yeah?” he says casually, looking her head on. Liars usually avoided looking people in the eyes, but he’s a trained liar and isn’t going to back down so easily. “Was he shockingly handsome and had a killer dragon named Growler?”

            “No,” she steps closer, “in fact, he was a scrawny twelve year old and had a dragon named _Blackjack_.”

            Percy’s mind went _scrawny_?

            Blackjack snorted at the sound of his name.

            And Percy suddenly realized that Annabeth was close enough that he could see the freckles on her nose.

            “Well,” he finally says, “What happened to this scrawny boy?”

            Annabeth looks disappointed, and Percy lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

            “He died,” she says, and he’s surprised by the amount of bitterness in her voice.

            “I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say, and she looks up at him cautiously.

            “I don’t give away other people’s secrets Peter,” she says softly, “I promise.”

            “I’m an open book,” he lies, and doesn’t know why he’s lying.

            “Also,” she says, “Growler is a stupid name for a dragon.”

            When she leaves, he sinks down next to Blackjack. He isn’t sure if she’d figured it out or not (everything inside him is screaming _probably_ ) and he knows the logical thing to do would be to stand up and call her over. Tell her the truth.

            He begins to follow her, but she’s already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s freezing his ass off again when they move onto their next location.

            His guide (or the person to lead him to the area where the next race would occur), is a small frightened looking boy atop a scrawny dragon is practically peeing his pants whenever he looks at Percy. The only tough thing about him is the eye patch he’s wearing.

            “It’s a day’s ride from here,” he says, right before they take off. He’s said this at least five times already, and Percy is starting to get annoyed. He doesn’t think any of his muscles can take this frost.

            “Oh _there_ you two are!” Annabeth’s voice, falsely happy and overly bright sounds from behind them, and Astraea tromps up next to Blackjack.

            “What –“

            “My guide has a cold,” she declares, “so we’re sharing one.”

            His guide currently looks like he’s about to pee even more upon realizing that he has two racers to lead. Percy’s considering going back and begging for his old guide back, even if the old man had smelled like beer and vomit.

            “Well met Lady,” the boy finally stammers.

            “Bit young to be a guide aren’t you?” Annabeth says. “You must be super smart.”

            Relieved, the boy puffs out his chest. “Top of my class,” he says proudly.

            “Shall we be off then?” Annabeth says, gesturing towards the side of the Cliffside. The boy looks happy, and kicks his dragon off.

            Percy offers nothing but a side glance at Annabeth before he’s having Blackjack follow the boy off the cliff.

            Astraea paces him easily, especially in a non-racing format.

            “A cold?” he asks, as the guide cheerily pushes on through the clouds, steadily losing altitude.

            “You know it’s not smart to ride a dragon when you’re sick,” Annabeth says easily. “Besides – “

            “You’re in love with me.”

            Annabeth splutters, her eyes widening, and Percy begins to laugh.

            “ _Peter_ ,” she says, “That was – “

            “Amazing,” he fills in, “I know.”

            “Are you always so annoying?” she asks, and he laughs again.

            “Yes,” he says, “and I don’t know who this other boy was - but I’m not him.”

 _This time,_ he thought _, I’m not lying._ It was true. He was not the same boy that asked his Mom is Annabeth was a princess.

            “I believe you,” Annabeth says, and he relaxes slightly.

            He should have known better than to trust her.

 

* * *

 

 

            They’re at lunch when it happens, out of the mountains, down in some nice meadows – you know. Peace. Quiet. _Tranquility_. The guide has gone off into the woods to go to the bathroom, and Annabeth has stopped asking him questions about who he really was.

            All was well.

            “Percy, could you pass me the cookies please?” Annabeth asks sweetly, and Percy – _Percy_ grabs the cookies and passes them to her.

            “These cookies are really – oh _shit_.”

            He should deny it, he thinks, now –

            “Why did you – “

            “Oh give it up Percy,” she snaps, “I know who you are. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

            Percy is contemplating swearing again.

            “How did you know?”

            “You have black hair, green eyes, and a black dragon that snorted yesterday when I said the name Blackjack.”

            He closes his eyes. “You can’t tell anybody.”

            “I’m not that stupid,” she scoffs, “of course I won’t.”

            Percy can feel a fierce blush coming on, “You called me _scrawny_ – “

            “You were at twelve!”

            “And what am I now?”        

            “Not scrawny.”

            Percy feels a smile coming on, but he shoves it out of sight. “I’m being serious Annabeth. If you tell anyone – I’m dead.”

            “I told you I can keep a secret,” she looks down at her toes. “Especially for a friend.”

            “A friend?”

            “What else do you think you are? Some kid I used to know that is supposed to be dead?”

            He contemplates sinking into the ground and out of sight.

            He doesn’t know what to say or do –

            He’s cut off by Annabeth flinging her arms around him and crushing him to her, her face alarmingly close to his neck. His arms warily move up to wrap around her.

            “I’m glad you’re not dead,” she whispers, and he feels something inside him loosen.

            “Funnily enough, I’m glad I’m not dead too,” he says softly, and she laughs and pulls away.

            “I want to talk to you more about that later,” she says quickly, as the guide returns from the trail. Percy studies his pimply features, but he doesn’t think he’d heard any of their conversation.

            Good.

           

* * *

 

 

            He’s been sleeping the stables ever since it was confirmed that Luke was going after him, and Annabeth has been doing the same.

            He’s barely laid down before she’s in his dragon pen, sitting at the end of the mattress with her legs curled up to her chest. She looks more childish this way, her arms latching around her knees, her eyes glinting oddly – he wonders if she’s really going to keep his secret.

            “What’s up?” he murmurs and she lets out a shaky laugh.

            “What’s _up_?” she rolls her eyes, “I’ve only found out that one of my oldest friends is _not_ dead.”

            He sits up too, “Is that a bad thing?”

            “Of course not.”

            “Then why are you freaking out?”

            “Because _what_ are you thinking?” she reaches out and flicks him in the head. “You are in the biggest competition in the entire state – and if anyone _but_ me figured out who you really were, you’d be dead.”

            “I’m aware.”

            “Then why are you doing this?” she demands, “I mean – I could see something like rescuing your mother from Lord Gabe – “

            “My Mother,” he says, in a choked sort of voice, “doesn’t want me to risk rescuing her.”

            He can still hear the sadness in Grover’s voice as he brought back the letter, _“Percy – she won’t do it.”_

“Then why this?”

            He squeezes his eyes shut, “Because I want to.”

            “Percy – “

            “Annabeth.”

            He can practically feel her glaring at him. “I’m smart enough to figure it out eventually,” she decides.

            “Then you should do that. Because I’m not going to tell you,” he says firmly.

            Annabeth has uncurled from her little ball, and her gray eyes are fierce. _If her eyes are storm clouds,_ Percy finds himself thinking, _I wonder if when she cries that’s when it rains._

Then he decides that he had read too much of Grover’s crappy poetry.

She’s scanning over him, he realizes, seeing if there’s any cracks in his armor, any real clues to what he’s up to.

            He’s gotten really good at hiding what he’s actually feeling though.

            “I _will_ figure it out,” she warns.

            “Good luck,” he replies, and she stands up and storms over to where Astraea is.

 

* * *

 

 

           The next race was in two days, and it kind of concerned him. It was in a forest, and there was no clear track. You had to make it through the forest, and out the other end, all by yourself.

            Percy wasn’t great at directions, and while he had a compass and knew that in theory he just had to go _north_ , he still has a feeling that he’s going to suck at this.

            Besides, Luke kept giving him these creepy looks from across the room and Percy wants more than anything to punch him.

            They’re only on the third race, and Luke is already the most annoying creature in all of existence.

            “You don’t like Luke,” a female voice observes, and Piper McClean plops down across from him, her braids swinging. She wasn’t a lady, like Annabeth, just a famous actor’s daughter. She’s pretty, he supposes, in a tough chick sort of way, but she doesn’t have gray eyes. _Not that it matters._

            “Who does like him?” Percy asks, turning his attention back to his breakfast. Piper is eating an apple, and she takes another large bite out of it before replying.

            “Kronos.”

            Percy fights off a rude joke and instead says, “Yeah, I suppose he does.”

            “So I came over here because I was wondering,” Piper takes another bite, chews, swallows, “If you and Annabeth wanted to go on a double date with me and Jason.”

            Percy, who had regrettably just taken a large bite of his eggs, found himself spraying it back into his plate in shock.

            “Me – me and Annabeth?” he coughs.

            “Your last guide is running around telling anyone who has ears that he saw you two hugging, so _yeah_ , you and Annabeth.”

            “It was just a hug,” he remembers suddenly to reject what she had said, “that guide has a fat mouth – “

            “Why would two competitors hug otherwise?” Piper shrugs, “If you want to pretend to be secretive that’s your choice.”

            He thinks that Piper and he could be good friends when she walks off. She’s got a good spirit.

            But him and Annabeth _dating_?

            Psh.

            She may have hugged him, but she didn’t _like_ him.

            Ha.

            Ha.

            Ha.

            He was screwed.

 

* * *

 

 

            He decides to take Blackjack out for just a casual ride in the skies when Annabeth corners him.

            “Have you hear the rumors?” she snaps, and he tightens Blackjack’s saddle and nods.

            “I have,” he admits, “and denied them.”

            “Oh – good,” she says, blushing furiously. _Why is she blushing?_

“Well,” he says, swinging himself up on Blackjack’s saddle, “I’m going for a ride.”

            “Where?” she’s frowning now, her hands perched on her hips like flags of disapproval.

            “Um – in the sky?” he says.

            Annabeth is still frowning, so he leans over and presses the button that opens up the roof.

            “Look,” she begins, “I want to know your reasons for winning this competition.”

            “I want nice weather tomorrow,” he replies, and her gray eyes gleam dangerously.

            “Pe - “

            “Annabeth.”

            “Listen - “

            “Actually Blackjack and I have an appointment,” Percy kicks his heels into Blackjack’s side and the black dragon swoops up out of the stables and into the air.

            Percy almost feels guilty when he looks back and sees Annabeth standing in the stable, peering up at the sky with frustration evident in her posture.

            _Almost_.

 

* * *

 

 

           

            Third race.

            The trees around him are a little too close for comfort as he tries to navigate Blackjack around them. He can’t imagine how Luke and his massive beast of a dragon must be managing the great forest.

            The trees are as tall as mountains it feels, and while the gaps in between the trees aren’t very fun, he doesn’t think the sky is likely to be better either. Gigantic birds were said to swoop overhead, birds so big that they could eat a dragon.

            (Percy wasn’t sure if he believed that last one.)  

            Still, he’s constantly on edge. He doesn’t know what place he’s in, if Annabeth is ahead or behind him - _anything_.

            He already hates this race. He keeps his compass in front of him at all times, and he _knows_ he’s going the right direction.

            He can only hope he’s ahead of the other’s he supposes, and go as fast as he can without endangering himself or Blackjack.

 

* * *

 

 

            His fast isn’t good enough.

            He’s almost fuming with anger when he sees himself in the fifth place spot , but he manages to keep a tight lid on his emotions.

  1. _Jason Grace – two hours, five minutes_
  2. _Piper McClean – two hours, four minutes_
  3. _Annabeth Chase – two hours – ten minutes_
  4. _Leo Valdez – one hour - twenty minutes_
  5. _Peter Johnson– two hours twenty five minutes_



            He doesn’t care about the names that come after his, they don’t matter. Only the ones in front.

            And all the minutes between them.

            At least, he thinks, at least Luke is behind him in sixth.

            “Good race Johnson,” Annabeth says coyly, and Percy just grins at her.

            “Growler and I will pull it off next time,” he says confidently, even if his confidence is slowly starting to drain away.

            “ _Sure_ ,” she says, and he knows that this is her form of revenge for not telling him.

            The thing is, he doesn’t think she’d help him if she knew the truth.

            The crowds are cheering her name, and Percy knows they think he’s a one hit wonder. Just someone who’s slowly sinking down the ranks until he inevitably lands in last.

            He was going to change that.

            He had to.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Sorry,” Jason tells him at dinner that night, his blonde hair windswept.

            “Why are you sorry?” Percy asks, but his mind isn’t fully focused on the conversation at hand. It’s more focused on the fact that Jason is King Zeus’ _son_ and while he’s nowhere near being the heir, that means he’s a _prince_. Which is what Percy used to be.

            “The only reason I won was because I’m gifted,” Jason says, “I know it’s not technically cheating – “

            Gifted was a fancy word for magic, and Percy is honestly just surprised that Jason is telling him this _at all_.

            “It’s just a race,” Percy says quickly, “but I wouldn’t tell anyone else that – okay?”

            Jason’s eyes are weird as they look over Percy, but he merely nods and stands up to go and sit with Piper.

           

* * *

 

 

                       She corners him in Blackjack’s pen that night, her golden curls cascading over her shoulders, her feet bare.

            “What do you want Chase?” he groans into his pillow, and she moves to tickle the top of Blackjack’s head.

            “I have some questions for you.”

            “Don’t you always?”

            “Smart people ask questions,” she says briskly, and he warily gets into a sitting position. She sits next to him, legs crossed, eyes wary.

            “Are you implying something about me?” Percy asks (and _no_ , his eyes are not looking at her lips).

            “Definitely,” she says quietly, “but – Percy – can you tell me what happened to you after – after Kronos – “

            “Why do you want to know?” is his first question, because someone wise once drilled into his head over and over again that everyone who asked questions _always_ had a reason behind it.

            “Because I spent years wondering why you died,” she confesses, her voice soft and gentle in the night, “and I couldn’t stop thinking about it today.”

            “Why do you care so much?”

            “You were my third friend ever,” Annabeth rests her chin on her knees, and again, he’s reminded that she’s seventeen, that _he’s_ seventeen – even if he’s pretty sure that they both have been through enough to make them ancient. At least, he knows he has.

            “Third?”

            “Thalia was the first,” she says, not bothering to explain who Thalia was, “and then – Luke.”

            “Luke Castellan?” he demands.

            “You tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine,” she replies, eyes bright and hard.

            _Well played Chase,_ he thinks, but instead says, “Okay.”

            “Okay?”

            “But, you have to promise not to try and stop me.”

            She looks disgruntled, and he can see curiosity and pride battling in her head.

            “Fine,” she growls. _Point one for curiosity._

            “I had taken Blackjack out flying the day he took over,” Percy says quietly, “and I watched the whole thing from above. I flew away.”

            He doesn’t add _because i was a coward_ or _i didn’t even tell my mother i loved her_ because he feels like it would add something personal to the story he’s telling, even though he wants it as distant from himself as possible.

            “Blackjack and I survived off the wilderness for about six months before someone caught us trying to steal strawberries from their field. It turned out, it was a nice man named Chiron, who somehow knew who I was – took me in, and trained me.”

            It’s the most blunt of ways he could tell things, he leaves out Rachel Elizabeth Dare and the way her red hair had looked like fire, he leaves out his best friend Grover and his wife Juniper, he leaves out the fact that he’s never going back.

            “And why are you racing this race?” Annabeth is puzzled, she’s expecting a heartbreaking story, but Percy won’t give her one. He doesn’t want to be just another sad story to tell around the campfire, although he assumes in the end that’s what he’ll be.

            “To kill Kronos,” he says bluntly, quietly enough so only Annabeth hears. Her eyes widen, her mouth drops – but something in her eyes settles. Confirmation.

            “Are you _crazy_?” she hisses.

            “No, I’m Percy,” he says absently, looking away. He doesn’t need her telling him it’s crazy. Grover had already said that, in-between sobs. Rachel had said in in-between accusations and a hastily said goodbye. Chiron had wished him luck but it had still been under his words, _there_.

            He’s more surprised when Annabeth punches him in the arm.

            She’s strong too, and he even lets out a yelp of pain before glaring at her.

            “What was that for?”

            “You’re an idiot,” she says in a low voice, “a complete – _seaweed_ brain. If you think I’m going to let you get killed – “

            “Oh yeah?” he challenges, “and what are _you_ going to do to stop me?”

            “Win,” she says, and their faces are much too close together, so he can count every single spot on her face.

            “Oh yeah?” he sneers, “I am just as good as you.”

            “Look at the leaderboard Jackson,” she says, standing up, “and then tell me.”

            She stalks out of the room. Percy blows out his candle, snuffing he and Blackjack into the dark, anger coursing through his veins.

            It isn’t until a few sleepless hours later that he realizes Annabeth never told him her story.

            He doesn’t have the chance to ask her before they’re moving locations again, into a cold and desolate desert.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s woken up by Annabeth shaking him.

            “There’s shouting up in the trainer’s quarters,” she says, barely looking him in the eye.

            “There is?”    

            She barely gives him another glance before she’s rushing out the door.

            Percy prods Blackjack awake and loosens his chain slightly. This seems to him to be the kind of diversion Luke would make, and he wants his dragon to have enough room to defend himself.

            Then he’s rushing after Annabeth and towards the screams and shouts.

 

* * *

 

 

            Piper and Jason will live, one of the officials tell them, although they’re out of the competition.

            Percy doesn’t envy whoever has to tell King Zeus that Prince Jason had mysteriously ‘fallen’ down a flight of stairs and cracked his head severely on the floor.

            Piper had similarly ‘fallen’ although it was from a balcony and Percy was pretty sure ankles _weren’t_ supposed to be able to turn that way.

            Annabeth is fuming, he can tell as he moves to stand by her. Her eyes are focused on one person – Luke.

            Luke who, instead of looking guilty, looks like he’s happy.

            It doesn’t escape Percy’s notice that Jason and Piper had been in first and second place.

 

* * *

 

            “So,” Percy catches up to Annabeth later that day, “I think you owe me your story now.”

            “What?”

            “I told you my story,” he says plainly, “I think it’s time you told me yours. _Including_ Luke.”

            Annabeth turns to shoot him a glare, but he knows that he’s already in the right. He _had_ told her his story, as halfhearted as his telling had been – even she couldn’t deny that.

            “Not here,” she finally says.

            “Why – “

            “I don’t want Luke getting any ideas,” she says, “I know a place by here.”

            “You do realize we’re in the middle of the desert, right?”

            She rolls her eyes. “I’m aware.”

            “But you know a place?”

            “Just follow me Seaweed Brain,” she says, and something inside of him twists at the nickname she’s given him. His father’s kingdom had been renowned for the sea.

            He gives her a mock salute as she stalks towards the dragon pen.

 

* * *

 

 

            Her place turned out to be a plateau several miles away fro the compound. He lands on it smoothly; scattering desert rats and pebbles everywhere.

            Annabeth’s already sitting on some sort of large rock formation, swinging her legs off the side and looking out at the sky.

            “Hey,” he says quietly, and she looks up at him.

            “Hey,” she replies.

            He sits down next to her, his legs brushing against her’s. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, like she’s nervous to tell him anything about herself.

            “You know,” he tells her, “I didn’t used to think desert’s existed. Then one of the other kids Chiron had adopted after Kronos’ conquest confessed about how his sister had died in a desert – and ever since then I’ve been terrified of them.”

            “There is nothing wrong with a desert,” Annabeth says quietly, “only the people inside it.”

            He knows she’s thinking about Luke.

            “What happened between you two?”

            “We didn’t have a huge falling apart if that’s what you’re thinking,” she finally says, “it was like one day we were friends, and then next - we _weren’t_.”

            “But – “

            “But it might have something to do with the death of our friend,” she admits quietly, “She – was the daughter of Zeus.”

            “But – Jason – “

            “Jason is her younger brother,” Annabeth quickly explains, “Thalia and I – my mother being Zeus’ _other_ daughter, grew up together. Even if she was technically my aunt, we didn’t really count it like that.”

            “Does that mean Jason’s your uncle?”

            “We don’t count it!” Annabeth’s cheeks were bright red; “King Zeus likes his dalliances with women a bit too much to count every single child he’s ever had.”

            “I remember that,” Percy laughs, “It may have been an eternity since I went to a fancy party, but I think you’d have to be living in a hole not to know about Zeus’ _dalliances_.”

            “ _Anyways_ ,” Annabeth continues, “Thalia and I grew up together. It was the two of us for a while, even if she was quite a bit older – until my father accepted a new ward into his household.”

            “Luke,” Percy guesses, and Annabeth nods.

            “He was wonderful back then. He and Thalia hit it off right away, and even if I was younger, I followed them _everywhere_. They were a lovely respite from my parents, who had begun to fight. Arranged marriages are rarely a good thing.”

            “I don’t suppose they are,” Percy says. He’s wondering now what would have happened if his father hadn’t died, if he had still been a prince. Would his Dad let him marry for love, like he had with his mother – or would he have forced Percy into an arranged marriage?

            “He was wonderful, until Thalia died.”

            He looks at her then, but her eyes are fixed on the horizon – like she’s most determinedly not looking at him.

            “She – “

            “Well in reality she was turned into a pine tree, but considering trees can’t talk – it’s like she’s dead.”

            “Turned into a pine tree?” he repeats slowly, very confused.

            “Witch.”

            “Witches actually exist?”

            Annabeth gives him a look, and he shrugs.

            “Yes, witches exist,” she says, “I should know. I’ve met several.”

            “You have?”

            Annabeth laughs, “I didn’t have the simplest teenage years.”

            “Tell me about it,” he says, glancing up at the sky, “If you and Luke were friends – why is he trying to take you out?”

            “I think he’s lost,” she says, her hands curling into fists. She looks genuinely _frustrated_ , “I think he’s lost his way. If Thalia was here she’d be able to talk some sense into him, but me – “

            “Why not you?”

            “I think whenever he looks at me he still sees a little girl following him around everywhere.”

            “Well that little girl is whooping his ass at racing,” Percy comments, and when he turns his head to look at Annabeth, he’s alarmed to find that her nose is inches from his.

            “You know,” she breaths, her cheeks turning pink, which he thinks is uncharacteristic for Annabeth, “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”

            “You’ve said that already,” he replies, his heart starting to beat faster.

            “Have I?” she blinks, and Percy almost can’t stop himself as he reaches out a hand to brush her cheek. She leans into his hand, and he’s wondering what he’s doing when she leans up and kisses him.

            Needless to say, he’s shocked at first. His eyes spring open and before he knows it she’s pulling away.

            “I’m sorry,” she says, blushing more furiously, “that was – “

            Like he’s caught in a dream, Percy grabs her arm and pulls her back, their lips smashing (ineloquently he might add) together once more.

            She seems to fit right against him, one hand curling into his hair, his hands pressed against her back.

            His first kiss had been Rachel, and while he had thought he had really liked Rachel, he remembers that her lips had only felt slimy and weird to him at first.

            Annabeth’s lips feel like they were meant for him, which sounds really creepy, but Percy doesn’t care, _can’t_ care, because she’s Annabeth and she’s here – on this plateau – in his arms.

            She’s the one to pull away first, and turns away to catch her breath.

            “That was – wow,” he finally says, and Annabeth turns back to him, and she flicks him in the arm.

            “You suck at kissing,” she lies (because she _has_ to be lying, right?) but her lips are still looking kind of puffy and she avoids looking him in the eye.

            “Sure,” he says, “It really looked like you suffering there.”

            “Oh shut up Seaweed Brain,” she murmurs, and pulls him in again. This time, the kiss goes deeper, his hand lost in her blonde curls, and suddenly nothing matters – nothing at all because she’s Annabeth and she’s right here, right now.

            “SO THE RUMOR MILLS ARE TRUE!” a loud boisterous voice shouts, “AND HERE I WAS THINKING YOU GUYS HAD SOME CLASS.”

            Percy is seriously considering killing Leo Valdez.

            Annabeth’s on her feet before he can say anything, murder in her face and posture.

            “If you tell anyone,” she says in a low, deadly voice, “I will _gut_ you Valdez.”

            “Sure, sure,” Leo says, but something in his face is pained. _He was friends with them,_ Percy realizes, _he was friends with Piper and Jason._

            “Leo,” he says slowly, “how would you like to get back at Luke with me?”

 

* * *

 

 

            “It’s just a prank Annabeth. We are not stooping to his level.”

            “Retaliating _at all_ is stooping to his level,” she protests firmly.

            “We have to do something,” he says, “Luke can’t get away with this. Jason and Piper are _out_ of the competition because of him.”

            She locks eyes with him, and he can’t help but remember their kiss from earlier – how it had felt like, how it had _tasted_.

            _Keep your head in the game Jackson,_ he reminds himself firmly.

            “And putting this in his food isn’t going to get him out of the competition?” Annabeth asks crossly.

            “It won’t Annabeth,” Leo promises, “It’ll just keep him from training from the next few days. It should wear off by the time we get to the next round. It’s _not_ cheating.”

            Percy isn’t quite sure if anyone should trust _Leo’s_ version of ‘not cheating’ but at the same time he can’t really care less.

            As long it sent the message he wanted it to send.

 

* * *

 

 

            He doesn’t much of Luke the next two days before the race.

            Leo also tells him to veer away from the bathrooms with a wink, laughter radiating out from every line of his body.

            Annabeth’s angry at him.

            He isn’t sure if it’s because of the kiss, or because she’s still Luke’s friend and doesn’t like seeing him in pain – but _whatever_.

            Percy doesn’t need Annabeth Chase.

            He doesn’t need her and her stupid princess curls with her eyes and her mouth and her – sweet gods.

            He was in deep.

 

* * *

 

 

            A _mean_ , selfish part of him is hoping that Luke doesn’t manage to peel himself away from the toilet to participate in today’s race, no matter what Annabeth thinks is right or wrong.

            He’s standing in front of Backbiter however, his face maybe a little paler, but otherwise fine.

            It seems Leo was right.

            (Regrettably).

            He can feel Annabeth’s eyes on him, and his mind unwillingly goes back to their kiss. _What in the name of everything holy and beautiful was that?_

He’d like to know, preferably soon.

            “ARE YOU READY?” the announcer practically screams into his microphone, and Percy, his mind on other things (like the shape of Annabeth’s lips) almost falls off Blackjack in shock.

            Leo, who’s the only one separating him from Annabeth now, snorts.

            Percy can feel his cheeks turning red, but instead of focusing on _that,_ he just crouches low over Blackjack, his eyes on the path ahead.

            “THREE, TWO – ONE – RACE!”

            Percy kicks his heels into Blackjack’s side and the black dragon takes off like a rocket, nimbly dodging Leo’s dragon Festus. Astraea manages to slip ahead however.

            He needs to narrow the gap between their times. Twenty-five minutes was quite a distance, but all the minutes in the world couldn’t keep him from reaching his goal.

            Rachel had called it stubbornness.

            Percy preferred _determination_.

            The desert was a pretty straightforward race. You had to race across miles of hot temperatures for an entire day. Kronos’ explanation for this race had been to prove ‘that one was able to survive’.

            Personally, Percy thinks he’s proven that about a billion times in his short lifetime already.

            Annabeth’s hair is tucked under her helmet; her body crouched low over Astraea, her supplies bouncing reassuringly on the saddle behind her. She looks _solid_ , like she’s bracing herself for impact.

            There’s nothing around them however, just miles and miles of dry sand, the other racers far behind them.

            What was she preparing for?

 

* * *

 

 

            Two hours later, he finds out what.

            He hears Leo’s dragon explode before he sees it, whipping around in his saddle faster than he thought was possible.

            A great plume of fire spreads against the sky, and the screams of other racers fill his ears.

            _his father’s boat was burning –_

He and Blackjack almost completely stop before he sees Backbiter racing out of the carnage after them, and sees that Hazel Levesque is slowing to help Leo.

            He couldn’t let Luke win.

           

 

* * *

 

 

  1. _Annabeth Chase – seven hours, thirty minutes._
  2. _Peter Johnson – eight hours one minute_
  3. _Luke Castellan – eight hours, ten minutes_



 

* * *

 

            Leo’s fine, but his dragon’s not.

            Percy finds him in the training area, his dragon merely a heap of scrap metal, only the bronze head still intact.

            “He took Festus,” Leo says, like his world’s falling apart, “he killed _Festus_.”

            “Can you fix him?” Percy asks, crouching beside him. He’s always assumed that was the best thing about having a mechanical dragon, you could always start over.

            Watching Leo put his head in his hands makes him wonder if that was really true after all.

            “I don’t know,” Leo sniffles. “My _mom_ built him, and she’s – she’s gone now.”

            Percy’s heart concaves. If there’s one thing he understands, it’s missing parents.

            He places his hand on Leo’s shoulder, “Leo I’m not going to let this be in vain. I am going to beat Luke, and I’m going to put him in his place.”

            Leo’s eyes glitter fiercely, “You _better_ ,” he says, “you better win for them.”

            In that moment, Percy knows he isn’t talking _just_ about Festus, or even about Jason and Piper. _She’s gone now._

            “I’ll win for them,” he promises.

 

 

* * *

 

            “Thank you,” he tells Hazel Levesque later, “Thank you for slowing down.”

            It was a kind of kindness he couldn’t quite comprehend, that this small girl with bunches of hair and large sad eyes could save someone’s life like that.

            “It was the right thing to do,” she says solemnly, and she has the same look in her eyes that Jason and Leo had. Like they somehow _believe_ in him.

            Percy doesn’t believe it.

 

* * *

 

 

            He doesn’t talk to Annabeth that night, although she looks like she wants to talk to him.

            All he can think about is the minutes between them.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            The next morning, they set out for the next race’s location, which happens to be up North.

            Percy feels like he’s going in circles, the races placed at seemingly random order, like this entire championship is an amusing game to Kronos.

            “We’ll see who’s laughing at the end, won’t we buddy?” Percy murmurs into Blackjack’s neck, his face buried in his dragon’s warm scales.

            He ends up wearing three layers, and by the time he gets off the saddle, he’s half frozen.

 

* * *

 

 

            He’s brushing ice off Blackjack’s wings when Luke corners him.

            “Look _Peter Johnson_ ,” Luke says, leaning back against the stall door. He’s looking at Percy like he’s a prize to be eaten, his scar standing out like a red wire against this face. If he’s cold, he doesn’t show it. “You’re not going to win.”

            “Funny, considering I’m in second place,” Percy snaps, “And it looks like Annabeth’s in first place, unless I need to get my eyes checked.”

            “I don’t know why you want to win it,” Luke says, “and frankly – I don’t care. We all have our reasons. But trying to seduce Annabeth, I’d drop it.”

            Percy immediately wants to reply, _I’M NOT SEDUCING HER_ but something about the look in Luke’s eyes stops him.

            “And why do you care?”

            “Because I don’t want Annabeth getting hurt,” Luke says, “Her father asked me to look after her. She’s engaged to someone else you know.”

            _Engaged_? He feels like he’s going to throw up. Instead, he manages to come off with a look of indifference.

            “She is?”

            Luke’s eyes shine, and Percy thinks that Luke knows more than he’s letting on, “She’s engaged to a knight from the south. You might have heard of him - Sir Octavian?”

            “Annabeth doesn’t seem like the type to get married,” he says, but instead is thinking _she doesn’t seem like the kind of person to kiss a boy on a plateau if she’s engaged._

“Why else do you think she’s racing so hard? Her father says if she wins the championship, she doesn’t have to marry him.”

            Luke’s eyes are hard and calculating, and Percy feels like he’s standing on a massive chessboard and Luke’s just thrown a move that nobody could expect.

            “Sucks to be her,” Percy says. “Well – if you’re worried about me offending Octavian, I’ll back off.”

            In reality, he wants to find this Octavian fellow and pummel him to pieces, but he just turns back to Blackjack and continues to scrap ice off his wings as Luke walks out of the dragon pen, all the pieces on the game board in his fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

            He can’t talk to Annabeth without Luke knowing, so he waits until nightfall and they’re both sleeping in the dragon pen to confront her.

            “Annabeth,” he steps into her and Astraea’s pen, his hands on his hips, channeling his inner Rachel because he’s going to _need_ it.

            “Percy,” she responds, already sprawled across her sleeping mattress, her blonde hair mussed.

            “Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged?” the words are out of his mouth before he can take them back, and they don’t feel nice in the air between them. They feel like a storm right before it rains.

            “Well _hello_ to you to,” Annabeth says, but her eyes are suspiciously bright all of the sudden. She sits up, affixing him with a stare that penetrates him deeper than he thought was possible – “Who told you?”

            “Luke.”

            “ _Luke_?”

            “Yes, blond hair, giant scar, massive pain in our asses, I’m sure you’re familiar.”

            She bites her lip, “Why did he tell you?”

            “I think you’re missing the point Annabeth,” he snaps, “you’re engaged and – and we – “

            “And we what?” she stands up suddenly, her face inches from his, looking like she was about to explode, “And we _what_ Percy Jackson?”

            “We _kissed_!” he nearly shouts, “In the desert – we kissed not once, but several times! And you’re engaged!”

            “To a whiny little asshole who couldn’t pick up any girls on his own so his Daddy had to make a marriage contract to him!”

            “Oh yeah?”

           “Yeah! So maybe you should get your head out of your ass and – “ she’s cut off when he kisses her, without even knowing what he’s _doing_. She stiffens, and then her hands are winding through his hair, pulling him closer and closer, until Percy feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust, because everything is Annabeth Annabeth _Annabeth_.

            Percy pulls back after a moment, his forehead resting against her’s, his mind a jumbled mess of tangled emotions and his stomach feeling like there’s a million butterflies trying to burst free.

            “What was _that_?” Annabeth asks, her breath tickling his nose.

            “You can’t marry him,” Percy gasps, his hands at her back. She folds into him, her face crushing into his shoulder as he holds her. He isn’t even sure _why_ they’re clutching at each other like everything around them is falling apart.

            Although, he reasons, maybe it is.

            “Only one of us can win,” Annabeth reminds him.

            He doesn’t respond to that, only holds her closer. Somehow, even after he’s left everything behind, he still has _something_ to hold onto.

           There is no easy way to win. If he wins, and kills Kronos, Kronos’ guards will kill him – and Annabeth will be forced into marrying Octavian. If she wins, Kronos lives.

            He isn’t quite sure which one is worse anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

            The day of the Tundra race dawns bright and early, and Percy quite frankly feels like he’s freezing his ass off and the race hasn’t even _started_ yet.

            Not to mention that it was probably going to even colder in the _air_.

            Annabeth’s on his left, bundled up to the extreme, her hands tightly clutching the reins.

            “He’s trying to throw you off,” she says to him out of the corner of her mouth, “That’s how this race is designed. To put you in hot, and then cold, dry and then wet. It’s too confuse you.”

            “Make you crazy more like,” Percy grumbles and Blackjack snorts his agreement, his breath a puff of mist on the early morning air.

            “Well that’s why I’m telling you. Don’t go crazy.”

            Luke is looking over at them, and Percy wants nothing more than to show him that the first snowball he had thrown in the mountain race was _nothing_ compared to what he could do with this amount of snow.

            It was so white that they had made the racer’s wear special goggles so the snow didn’t _blind_ them. Blackjack was mostly just amusing himself by frolicking in the snow like a gigantic puppy dog.

            Astraea seems to be trying to have a competition with Blackjack to see who could make their owner look the most ridiculous as she buries her snout in the snow and begins to fling globs of the white stuff _everywhere_.

            “ARE YOU READY TO RACE?” the announcer screams, and Percy tenses. There is thirty-one minutes between he and Annabeth. Enough of a time difference for Percy to fully decide what he wants to do.

            Does he let Annabeth win?

            Where would that put him?

           

* * *

 

 

  1. _Annabeth Chase – 9 hours, five minutes_
  2. _Peter Johnson – 9 hours, one minute_
  3. _Luke Castellan – 8 hours, fifty nine minutes._



 

 

* * *

 

 

He finds Annabeth later sitting against Astraea’s side.

“What happened?” he asks her.

“I had a thirty minute lead,” she slams her fist into the floor, “But Astraea got snow blinded. It slowed us down.”

For the strangest reason, he feels like she’s lying. Astraea certainly seems fine now, her eyes clear as she regards Percy.

Why had Annabeth let him catch up?

 

* * *

 

 

Their next destination is a swamp, and Percy thinks Annabeth’s theory about Kronos just trying to get in their heads is correct.

They are literally just flying back and forth across the country, and his bones have barely thawed before he’s sweating like a pig.

Annabeth looks to be in a similar condition, her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat, and looks particularly grumpy as she swats at a mosquito. They’re still getting their ‘living quarters’ set up, so all the racers and a few guests are milling around outside like lost sheep.

“ _Remember_ Annabeth,” Percy tells her solemnly, “Kronos is just trying to get to your head.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. Actually sticks her tongue out at him. Like she’s five or something.

So what’s the sensible thing to do?

He grins and shoves her into the muddy swamp water behind her. She shrieks as she hits the water, her head disappearing under the surface. He moves closer to the water to make sure she wasn’t _drowning_ or something, when her hand shoots out of the water and grabs his ankle, yanking him under.

He yells in protest as he hits the water, gross tastes he does not want to think about filling his mouth.

He rises to the surface, spluttering, only to be shoved back under by Annabeth’s hand, her laughter filling the air. It’s disgusting, and he’ll probably smell like swamp all day, but when he resurfaces and tackles her back into the bay, he can’t help but laugh.

She’s laughing too, and when he surfaces, they both just stand there for a moment, up to their waists in gross water, laughing.

“ _Annabeth_?”

            Annabeth’s face goes white and her laughter is abruptly cut off.

            A pale blonde boy that’s so scrawny Percy thinks he could probably break him in half is standing on the edge of the swamp, his face turned into an expression of eternal disgust.

            “Octavian?” Annabeth says, but it’s not the kind of voice you use around your fiancé. It’s the kind of voice you use when you’re looking at someone you hate.

            Percy already hates him.

            “What are you doing in the swamp?” Octavian’s nose wrinkles.

            “Training,” Percy answers before Annabeth can say anything else, “You know – preparing yourself for anything. That sort of thing.”

            Annabeth climbs out of the swamp and Percy follows her.

            “This is my friend, Peter Johnson,” Annabeth says, “Peter, this is Octavian. My – my betrothed.”

            Octavian looks like he has no desire to hold Percy’s hand, but Percy puts on his best cheesy grin, reaches down, and grabs Octavian’s hand with his own, soaking wet, muddy one.

            It’s totally worth the look on Octavian’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

            He still is a firm believer in sleeping in the Dragon pen, but his given room is useful for hot showers.

            He’s just managed to get all the dirt that had stuck to him out when someone knocks on his door.

            He’s only wearing a towel that he’s tightly tied around his waist, but isn’t feeling all too nervous when he opens the door until he sees that it’s Annabeth.

            She’s clean too, her hair hanging over her shoulders in wet clumps, and somehow it makes her eyes stand out more.

            “Where’s Octavian?” he asks conversationally. She steps in, and closes the door tightly behind her.

            “Going to find my father,” she breathes, “he’s heard the rumors about the two of us.”

            “What did you say?”

            “I said that I was planning on winning so it didn’t matter if I had a little fun,” she has a sort of wicked grin playing about her mouth, “and that if he ever tried to boss me around again, I’d cut off his cock and feed it to Astraea.”

            “We all know she wouldn’t stoop so low as to eat that,” Percy says, ignoring the _planning to win_ part because it’s a point of confusion for him.

            “I have a question for you,” she says.

            “Ask away.”

            “Does it count as cheating if you’re in an arranged marriage?”

            “I don’t know,” he breathes, “I don’t believe in arranged marriages.”

            When they come crashing together, it’s not much of a surprise to either of them. They are a mess of limbs and breaths and crashing, breathless, _want_. It’s the first time Percy has wanted anything but revenge for _years_.

            He backs them up to the bed, and Annabeth yanks him down atop her.

            “Are you sure?” he asks, his breath a mumbled mess as he mutters it against her neck.

            “Yes,” she says, “ _Yes_.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Percy feels not one whit of remorse for Octavian when he sees him the next morning. Or Annabeth’s father, who is looking at the current rankings like they’re his doom.

            The swamp race is a bit more complicated than the other races, considering that the swamp is almost built like a maze, and it had creatures that wanted nothing more than to take a chunk out of you and your dragon.

            He’s lining up Blackjack to race when he hears the shouting behind him.

            “I AM YOUR FATHER,” Lord Chase bellows, and Percy turns to see Annabeth and Astraea getting sidelined by her father and Octavian.

            Annabeth merely turns her head and yanks on Astraea’s reins, pulling her into line.

            The rest of the racers file in behind them, including Luke, who just gives Percy a smug look.

            Percy hates him.

            “Don’t let them get to you,” Percy tells her as he mounts Blackjack.

            “Wasn’t planning on it,” Annabeth says, but her cheeks are bright red. Percy can’t help but wonder if her Father had figured out what had – er - _transpired_ between the two of them the night before, or if it was merely based on the rumors that Peter Johnson and Annabeth Chase were a thing.

            Still, he doesn’t like the way Luke is looking at the pair of them.

           

Line break

 

  1. _Annabeth Chase – eleven hours, twenty minutes_
  2. _Peter Johnson – eleven hours, eighteen minutes_
  3. _Luke Castellan – eleven hours, sixteen minutes_



 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They assemble the racers in the dining hall to tell them where there next destination is, per usual, and Percy cannot help but note the empty chairs where Leo, Piper, and Jason were supposed to be sitting.

“It’s a complex set of caves near the ocean,” the man in charge is saying, “and we are being hosted by Lord Gabe – “

Percy almost falls off his chair.

“ – And his wife Lady Sally,” he finishes.

Annabeth’s hand finds his own under the table and she holds onto him like he’s about to fly away.

Which, maybe he is.

 

* * *

 

 

He has to wear a hood.

It’s not something he wants to do, but Gabe has seen his face before and it was best if he didn’t get a look at Percy.

Annabeth forces him into the hood at breakfast before they set off, telling him that the least he can do is keep people thinking that he’s dead for _her_ sake.

In reality, he wants to throw off the hood and instead throw up. Preferably all over Gabe.

Lord Gabe is prattling on at the front of the gates about how happy he is to sponsor the races, and how he hopes that everyone here likes the accommodations. The race will take place is in three days he tells them.

Meanwhile, his mother stands next to him, looking like a painted doll while she smiles and nods to whatever Lord Gabe says. She’s looking so much older than she did before, new lines creasing the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth, and she flinches a little when Gabe turns towards her.

Annabeth reaches down and holds his hand, but he thinks this time it’s more to hold him back.

 

* * *

 

 

“I need you to distract Lord Gabe after dinner,” he tells Annabeth in the hallway outside her room. There is no sleeping in the dragon pen’s tonight; guards are posted outside the doorways. Percy only hopes that the guards are enough for Luke.

“Why?”

“I need to talk to her,” he says firmly.

“Percy – “

“Annabeth.”

She seems to give in a little, her shoulders slumping. “ _Fine_. But don’t do anything stupid.”

Percy smiles at her, “When have I ever?”

He’s styled his hair in a weird way, and Annabeth says the color she chose him to wear will wash out the color of his eyes some, so he doesn’t think Gabe will recognize him. It’s not like he’s _looking_ for Percy Jackson.

He’s sure his Mother will know it’s him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The racer’s sit in a line from who’s in first to who’s in last, so Annabeth is sitting right next to Lord Gabe, and that means that Percy is sitting two chairs away from his Mother, who had not looked up from her plate since the racers entered.

“Lady Chase,” Lord Gabe says in his over pompous voice, “How long have you been racing?”

“Informally since I was really young,” Annabeth answers, toying with some of the food on her plate, “formally since I was twelve.”

“And what about you Peter Johnson?”

Percy’s hand tightens around his fork, but he looks up and smiles at Lord Gabe. “I’m the same as Lady Annabeth,” he answers, “Twelve.”

His Mother nearly knocks over her water glass.

            “Sally!” Gabe scolds, “Be _careful_.”

            His mother flinches, but responds in a cheery sort of voice, “Silly me.”

            She leans forward, pretending to be more engaged in the conversation Annabeth resumes with Lord Gabe, but her eyes seek out Percy.

            For the first time in five years, he looks at his mother. Her eyes widen, and he _knows_ she recognizes him, and it sends something like elation spiraling through his stomach.

            He wants more than anything to give her a hug take her out and fly away on Blackjack and _never_ come back. As long as he has her, what does it matter?

            “Oh Lord Gabe, you must simply show me that after dinner!” Annabeth says, laughing brightly. Percy quickly realizes what she’s doing, and looks back down at his food.

            “I was hoping to get a tour of the palace,” he says quickly, “Could someone – “

            “I’m sure Lady Sally will be happy to show you around,” Lord Gabe says, waving a dismissive hand. “Right honey?”

            His Mom nods.

 

* * *

 

 

            His Mom takes him into the art gallery under the pretense of showing him some of the art, but once she sees that it’s empty, she engulfs him in a hug that feels like coming home. Embarrassingly, tears begin to well in his eyes, and he buries his face in his Mom’s hair.

            “You’re so tall,” she gasps, “Oh _Percy_.”

            He pulls back, “Mom – “

            “But what are you _doing_ here? And in second place? _Percy_.”

            This was a conversation he had not foreseen. In fact, he had given a letter to Chiron to give to his Mom after Kronos was killed to avoid this.

            “I’m doing this for us Mom,” Percy promises her, but it feels like a lie on his tongue. He _is_ doing it for them, but what his Mom doesn’t know – what she _can’t_ know, is that he’s pretty sure he’s going to die at the end.

            “Doing what?”

            “If I win, I can get you out of here,” Percy says, “trust me.”

            “Percy – “

            “I am not going to let you live with him any longer,” he says firmly. She has makeup on her face, and reaches out a finger to wipe it away under her eye.

            His suspicions are confirmed when the purple discoloration of a bruise peeks through.

            “Percy – “

            “Does he hit you Mom?”

            “It’s – “

            He makes up his mind then.

           

 

* * *

 

            Annabeth knocks on his door that night.

            For once, he doesn’t let her in.

            (He also manages to avoid her for the next few days as well.)

 

* * *

 

 

            The race start is at the mouth of the great cave, a cave Percy remembers all too well from childhood. His father had taken him here once, and they had flown through the oddly shaped caves all day, splashing each other with the water from the underground lakes and eating fish they’d caught themselves.

            It only hardens his resolve.

            Annabeth looks angry at him, and he doesn’t really blame her, he had been avoiding her for days. She grips her reins tightly as she brings Astraea up next to him, and the great gray dragon nudges Blackjack with her head.

            “Johnson,” she says to him, her gray eyes burning.

            “Chase,” he responds.

            “WHO’S READY TO RACE?” the announcer screams, and the crowds go wild. This is the last race before the final race, and the tension was palpable in the air. It was the time for people to catch up, for other’s to take the lead.

            “THREE – TWO – ONE – RACE!“ the announcer roars, and Percy takes off like a shot. He’s the first one in the caves, ducking and swerving around corners like he was born to do this. He can hear the other dragons enter, their roars distorted with the weird walls and the water trickling throughout the whole place.

            He doesn’t need to look back to know that Annabeth is hot on his tail, she wants this just as _badly_ , just as _desperately_ as he does. In fact, he was just about to give it to her. Let someone else deal with Kronos.

            He dodges another large cave formation and he knows Annabeth and Luke do too, but there is a cry of pain and an inhuman screech from behind him, and he knows someone else wasn’t so lucky.

            He dares to look back and finds that Annabeth is right behind him, Luke right behind her. It’s like the three of them are pieces that are just being set into play at once.

            His head whips back to the front, and then darts down a side passage he remembers from when he came her with his dad. Annabeth follows him, but Luke isn’t quick enough and keeps heading off in the way most riders would take.

            Percy just has a short cut.

            “Percy!” Annabeth’s voice echoes around the tunnel, and Percy pushes Blackjack harder, “What changed?”

            “Nothing!” he shouts back, “This was my plan all along!”

            “You’re going to get yourself killed!” her gray eyes, when he looks back, are filled with a sort of fear that he’s never seen on her before. “You already died once, I’m not letting you die again!”

            The shortcut opens out onto a small underwater lake, and it’s enough of a space that Annabeth can pass him. Astraea gets right next to him, and Annabeth looks over at him, the blonde hairs that have escaped from her helmet rippling in the wind.

            Percy feels a tug in his gut that he hasn’t felt in years, and knows what he needs to do.

            “I’m sorry,” he tells her, and he really is. “I hope you can find another way out of marrying Octavian.”

            When he raises his hand, it’s to summon a wave of water that crashes over her and Astraea and brings them crashing down into the lake.

            What he hadn’t told Jason was, he was gifted too.

           

 

* * *

 

 

  1. _Peter Johnson 10 hr 10 min_
  2. _Luke Castellan 10 hr 20 min_
  3. _Hazel Levesque 11 hr 1 min_
  4. _Frank Zhang 11 hr five min_
  5. _Will Solace 11 hr twenty min_
  6. _Annabeth Chase 11 hr forty five min_



* * *

 

 

            She finds him in Blackjack’s dragon pen, and slams him against the wall, her hands knotted in his shirt, her face bright red.

            “How _dare_ you?” she spits.

            “Oh I’m so sorry Lady Annabeth,” Percy laughs, and it doesn’t even sound like his voice anymore, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

            “I needed to win this!”

            “And you know what? So did I!” he shoves her backwards, “I needed to win so I could save a lot of people. I’m not trying to win as some sort of fuck you to Kronos!”

            Her eyes flash with hurt, and he _hates_ that he’s saying these words, _hates_ it more than anything but he can’t stop –

            “Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be able to make your own choices? To have someone decide your life for you?”

            “Actually I _do_ ,” he says, “Kronos did that for me. He killed my father, married my mother to some monster that hits her, and I have spent every day since then trying to _fix_ things, because apparently every other kingdom in this world is fine with the fact that he murdered King Poseidon!”

            “They’re _scared_ of him Percy,” Annabeth’s voice is rising, “Don’t you get it? Everyone cried when that happened but they couldn’t do anything – and how do you think you can do anything? You’re just _one_ person Percy, do you really think you can fight this war on your own?”

            “I can if I win,” he answers, and turns his back on her.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            The final race is announced to be in the capital, a simple race through the streets. It was going to be a short, brutal race against Luke, and if he won that – the moment he had been preparing for _years_ would happen.

            He can feel the anticipation settling in with the guilt from what he had done to Annabeth. The only way he was sleeping through the night was by reassuring himself that Annabeth would find another way to get out of her engagement. She was the smartest person he knew. She would find a way.

            They arrive in the capital about two days later, and he automatically hates the place.

            Built away from his father’s palace, it’s made of shiny gold. The cobblestones are even painted gold, the windows, the houses, it’s a literal golden city.

            It hurts his eyes.

            The capital is an abrasive place to him regardless, because every single person living there is a citizen of Kronos’ ‘kingdom’.

            They parade them through the streets on their dragons like painted dolls, and Percy wants nothing more than to shout at them – _IS THIS WHAT REALLY MAKES YOU HAPPY?_

            He couldn’t go back now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Everyone is invited to attend the last race, and every single house is crammed full with people, their faces peering out at the streets, eager to crown their champion. Here, everyone is equal, from the lowest servant to the highest noble. They all can watch the race.

            Annabeth isn’t next to him when he pulls up with Blackjack – not this time. She’s farther down the line, and he can’t see her.

            He wonders if he’ll see her one last time.

            “ARE YOU ALL READY TO RACE?” the announcer screams for a final time.

            The cheers resonate around the city louder than anything Percy has ever heard, and he can hear his name being shouted from place to place, from home to home, _everywhere_.

            Luke looks over at him, his scar turning ugly in the golden light.

            The last time.

            “THREE – TWO – ONE!”

            Percy’s kicking his heels into Blackjack as soon as the announcer says one, and Blackjack, good, faithful, _Blackjack_ , takes off like a shot. He’s flying so fast and hard that Percy can’t imagine anyone catching up to him, let alone Luke – who has ten minutes between them to bridge.

            The golden city lights up like a candle when he passes, the screams deafening. He cannot help but think that they are cheering for the wrong person, he is not here to be their champion – he is here to be their downfall.

            Blackjack and he become one, one machine that is only focused on the finish line, on winning winning _winning_.

            The memory of his Mom’s bruised cheek keeps him going, of Annabeth’s broken look last night, of Rachel’s sunset hair, Grover’s tears – Annabeth’s body beneath him, warm and beautiful.

            He is going to win for them.

            He is going to win for _everyone_.

           

 

* * *

 

 

            “AND WE HAVE OUR CHAMPION PETER JOHNSON!” the announcer screams, lifting Percy’s arm in the air and waving it front of the hoards of cheering people. Peter Johnson has become a celebrity all of the sudden, raised in front of all on a pedestal of victory.

            He’s only paying attention to one pair of eyes that’s watching him however, one pair of golden eyes that he can feel boring into his back like lasers.

            Kronos.

            “Well done boy,” the announcer belches, away from his microphone, and pats Percy on the back.

            “Thank you,” Percy says, as the rest of the racers dismount from their dragons. Annabeth is there, in her sixth place spot, and he can feel her eyes burning in to him too. If this works, maybe she can find her way out. Maybe in all the chaos that follows, Annabeth can fly away.

            “It’s time to meet the King now,” the announcer grips the back of Percy’s coat and wrangles him around to face the golden throne that’s been moved to the forefront of the castle steps, a perfect place for watching the race.

            He can see Kronos now, a dark figure sitting in a golden chair, his chin propped on his hand, his golden eyes flashing.

            “Peter!” the crowd is screaming.

            Percy begins to walk forward. The announcer lets go of his coat and steps back, and Percy’s alone. He fiddles with the hem of his coat, tearing out the stiches and slipping the knife into his fingers, carefully – oh so _carefully_.

            This is where it ends.

            Time seems to be passing slower, like every moment is passing through a layer of sticky molasses, like nothing else has mattered until now, and time is slowing down in anticipation.

            As he gets closer, details of Kronos’ face begin to stand out. The odd discoloration of his eyes, the skin that looks like it’s stretched over his bones, the overpowering clothes and the reek of power. He has a crown perched on his crown like an afterthought, and it only takes Percy two seconds to realize that it’s his _father’s_ crown – his crown - that Kronos is wearing like some sick prize of war.

            “Peter Johnson,” Kronos says in a cold, raspy voice, “Or should I say – _Percy Jackson_.”

            If time was moving slowly before, at this point it completely stops.

            Percy barely has time to turn around before Luke hits him over the head with something hard enough to make him pass out.

 

* * *

 

            His cell smells like cat piss.

            It also, Percy reflects, is the smell of his life’s goals and expectations as of right now.

            He knows now that he’s going to die, but it’s not going to be the heroic death he had planned for himself. Really, he probably should have been dead five years ago, when Kronos’ soldiers stormed his palace and killed his father.

            He was just lucky.

            Until suddenly, he wasn’t.

            He flops back down on the cold stone floor, wondering where he went wrong. Was it talking to Annabeth? Should he have ignored her from the start?

            Yet he can’t find it in himself to regret Annabeth. At least she was a bit of sunlight in this stupid place.

            It seemed she had been right. One person couldn’t win a war, no matter how hard you tried. He could see now, how stupid he had been. Now he was going to be executed, Kronos would still be king, and Annabeth would be married to some sickly bastard.

            He had lost everything.

 

* * *

 

 

            He doesn’t get a trial.

            Only a notice from the guard’s that his execution is to take place the following morning, as apposed to the champion’s ball.

 

* * *

 

 

 

            They throw a black bag over his head and drag him out of his cell into a carriage, where he bounces around like a sack of rocks. His head begins to ache as it slams into the wall for the fifth time before the carriage pulls to a stop.

            “Get out,” someone growls, yanking him out the door. He sprawls on the ground, banging his head on a rock.

            His head ringing and what he’s pretty sure is blood dripping down his face, and the guard’s are all too happy to take off the blindfold.

            “I thought they made this illegal,” Percy breathes at the sight before him, horror piercing through his stomach like a knife.

            The guard prods him in the back with the hilt of his sword, “You’re the new exception.”

            “Well isn’t that special,” Percy says to no one in particular, but the guard gives him a sharp jab anyways, and he nearly slams into the ground.

            He’s standing before a gigantic crack in the ground, probably about forty feet wide, with a small wobbly plank stretching out into the middle. The area around it has been burned to a crisp, everything gone except for this large scar embedded in the earth.

            Kronos and a parade of highborn nobles and guards are a safe distance away from the plank, but something’s _missing_ from the picture.

            The guards force him forward.

            “Percy Jackson,” Kronos says his name like it’s a delicious treat, “I was wondering when you’d show.”

            Percy cooperates. There’s no point. He’s forced out onto that tiny wooden plank, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The plank wobbles beneath him, the darkness beneath him an obscure mystery.

            They had outlawed this form of execution centuries ago, because it was considered to be too brutal of a death for anyone to go through.

            “AS A RESULT OF HIS CRIMES,” Kronos booms, “PERCY JACKSON AND HIS CO- CONSPITOR ARE TO BE FED TO THE GREAT DRAGON TARTUARUS.”

            Percy freezes at co-conspirator.

            He turns, a look of panic on his face, and he realizes the one thing he was missing.

            Luke was nowhere to be found.

            They rip off another prisoner’s hood, and Annabeth steps forward.

            “No,” Percy whispers in horror.

            The plank wobbles as she makes her way towards him, her hands bound behind her.

            “Hey Percy,” she says softly.

            “No,” he whispers, “HEY!” he shouts to Kronos, “I DID THIS ON MY OWN! YOU NEED TO LET HER GO!”

            The crowd laughs, sounding like a bunch of hyenas, and Annabeth steps closer.

            “I confessed,” she breathes, “because it’s true.”

            “What’s true?”

          “I helped you,” she says, “I helped you by keeping your secret. And the fact of the matter Percy is, I would rather die than marry Octavian.”

            “I should have let you win.”

            Her gray eyes are as hard as marbles, and he can _feel_ that she’s still angry.

            “You should have,” she says, “but you didn’t. And here we are.”

            He’s even more surprised when she steps forward and kisses him.

            “Annabeth?”

          “You really think you can get away from me that easily?” she demands, “I still need to get revenge for you _cheating_ back in the ocean cave.”

            “Well I guess you’ll just have to do that in the afterlife then.”

            “I guess I will.”

            He reaches out his hand, “Together?” he asks.

            “Together.”

            When Kronos gives the order to cut the plank and let them fall, Percy almost isn’t frightened.

            Maybe this was always how it was going to end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> honestly it's up to you guys if there's a second part or not i am good with anything


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